The Leaving of Liverpool (3 page)

Jimmy nodded slowly and Lily let out her breath in a sigh of relief. The girls she could manage but she’d wondered about the lads.

Emily smiled, then glanced at Phoebe-Ann.

Phoebe-Ann could see she was outnumbered but she didn’t care. She’d made a decision of her own. ‘Well, I’m not going to live with him even if there are three bedrooms! I’m not going to have everyone pointing and nudging each other and jangling!’

‘That’ll do you!’ Jack’s voice was dangerously quiet for he feared a desertion of unity from Jimmy.

Emily saw that her mother was tightly twisting the hem of her apron. She could kill Phoebe-Ann. ‘And just what are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to live in at the Mercers’. If I have to go back into service I might as well go the whole hog and live in as well!’ She sprang up from the table and turned and ran quickly up the stairs.

Lily made to rise and go after her but Emily laid a restraining hand on her arm.

‘Leave her, Mam! She’ll come round and if she doesn’t . . . well, it might be better her living in instead of moving under protest and throwing tantrums if anyone looks sideways at her.’ She smiled at her mother but she was wondering how it would work out. She knew fingers would be pointed, tongues would wag but it would also be a five minute wonder. But would they all get on? They were all noisy. She and Phoebe-Ann were always bickering. Jack and Jimmy often argued, especially about football, and Mr Davies was such a quiet man. She realized Lily was speaking.

‘Of course it will be a quiet affair. I know it’s usual for it to be in church, but I wanted it to be unusual, something different to what your Da and I had. So, it’s to be at the Registry Office and no expensive “do” afterwards.’ She looked a little embarrassed. ‘After all, neither of us are spring chickens.’

‘When?’ Emily asked.

‘Next Friday afternoon. The stuff I decide to take with me can go on Thursday night. Then after the ceremony we all go back . . . there.’

Emily raised her teacup. ‘Here’s to you and Mr Davies.’

Lily smiled at her. ‘Albert. You’ll have to learn to call him Albert.’

‘To you and . . . Albert and a new life.’ It wasn’t exactly what she had wanted to say but the right words just wouldn’t come, so it would have to do.

‘
I
MEAN IT! I REALLY mean it, so don’t try and talk me out of it!’ Phoebe-Ann cried when Emily pushed open the bedroom door.

‘I know you do,’ Emily said laconically, as she lit the gas jet and the room became bathed in its soft light, the warm glow muting the shabbiness of the furniture, hiding the faded colours of the patchwork quilt on the bed and the curtain on the window. It softened the harshness of the bare floorboards and picked out the colours of the peg rug by the side of the bed.

The quilt was creased and the bolster rumpled where Phoebe-Ann had tossed and turned. Emily sat at the foot of the bed.

‘You can change your mind, if you wanted to.’

Phoebe-Ann shot upright. ‘No! You might not care that everyone will be talking about us, but I do! We’ll be the laughing stock of Toxteth! It was bad enough when Mam started going in a couple of times a week after he was ill. Her next door said “See your Mam’s gettin’ ’er feet under the table, like!” I was so mortified I could have died!’

‘Oh, come off it, Fee! You don’t mean to tell me you take any notice of her? She’s all mouth! She can eat a banana sideways that one!’

Phoebe-Ann walked over to the window and stared out at the bulk of St Nathaniel’s church, outlined against the indigo sky of the midsummer’s night.

Seeing she was getting nowhere, Emily decided to change the subject. ‘What was the other important event you were harping on about before all . . . this?’

‘Going back into service, although now I’m glad I am!’

Emily sighed. She just couldn’t win. Phoebe-Ann seemed determined to be contrary. ‘I thought you said you would hate working for the Mercers again?’

‘What else can I do now the munitions have closed down and Mam won’t hear of me working in any other factory, and now . . . this mess?’

Emily did not share her sister’s enthusiasm for factory work. From the day they’d patriotically joined the thousands of girls and women in munitions she’d hated it. It was boring, dirty work and often dangerous. She tried not to think of Annie Moran’s face, or what had been left of it, when a detonator had exploded. Phoebe-Ann had enjoyed the companionship of the other girls. The lighter atmosphere. The less autocratic supervision, but most of all she liked the money in her pocket. Far more than she was paid as a lady’s maid.

She herself would be glad to go back to the large house in Upper Huskisson Street owned by Richard Mercer, a director of the Cunard Shipping Company. She liked the usually tranquil atmosphere, the well-ordered routine, the expensive furniture, fine carpets and beautiful furnishings.

Phoebe-Ann was rubbing away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘At least Miss Olivia will be glad to have me back. I’ll have my self-respect and be able to hold my head up when I come home to see Mam and . . . him!’

‘I don’t know why you’re so dead set against Mr Davies. Albert,’ she corrected herself and studiously ignored the look Phoebe-Ann shot at her. ‘You don’t know him so how can you judge him?’

‘That’s just it! We
don’t
know him, and I don’t want to!’

Emily was getting tired of the whole matter. ‘Oh, suit yourself but don’t come moaning to me when Cook gets on to you or Miss Olivia is in one of those moods when even the Angel Gabriel himself couldn’t please her.’ She took out the pins that held up her thick, straight hair and began to brush it.

‘I’ve always got on well with Miss Olivia,’ Phoebe-Ann said defensively.

‘That’s because you’re both scatty and spoiled. She having no mam and you being the youngest.’

‘I’m not spoiled!’

‘You’re certainly giving a good impression of it at the moment!’

Phoebe-Ann pulled a face. Now that a solution was in sight, although not the one she would readily admit was perfect, she felt better. If she lived in she’d have that small room at the top of the house to which she could escape at night, should she want to, with a bed of her own. No sharing. And she did get on well with Olivia Mercer who was indeed spoiled.

Olivia was the same age as herself and could be a Tartar when she chose to be. At other times she treated her just like a friend or a sister and they had often giggled together for hours until Madge Webster, the housekeeper, had admonished her and delivered long lectures on ‘knowing your place’. ‘So, when is it to be then?’

Emily put down the hairbrush. ‘Next Friday afternoon and don’t think you are going to get out of going! It’s only going to be a quiet “do” at Brougham Terrace and you’ll go if I have to drag you every foot of the way!’

Phoebe-Ann pouted and then tried to look nonchalant. ‘That won’t be necessary!’

‘Good!’ Emily slipped her clean but darned nightdress over her head. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of the tiny chest.

Phoebe-Ann started to get undressed. ‘Em, do you think we could get something new, to wear? Do you think if Mam asked . . .’

‘You’ve got a flamin’ nerve, Phoebe-Ann Parkinson! Don’t be two-faced! And don’t be mithering Mam about new clothes. If you want something, you pay for it!’

 

Next morning, as had become her habit, Lily slipped quietly in through the back door of the house on the corner. She smiled to herself as she looked around the kitchen. The furniture was plain but of good quality. The range glimmered from recent black-leading and the kettle sang on the hob.

For months now she’d made his Sunday dinner. He was an early riser, even on Sunday. He usually checked on the horses then went for a long walk, bought a newspaper and returned home, mid-morning. She looked at the clock on the mantel. He must have cut short his morning constitutional she surmised. He wouldn’t leave the kettle to boil dry.

She busied herself with the piece of brisket, thinking it would be the last time she would cook him a solitary meal and that from now on there would always be meat for Sunday lunch. Something that was a rarity in her house.

She didn’t hear him come down the stairs or open the door. Nor did she see him standing watching her. He was a stocky man of no great height. His face was weather-beaten from the years spent working in the open. His hair had once been black but now it was grizzled. His dark eyes beneath thick, straight eyebrows were kind.

She turned around. ‘Oh! Good grief! You gave me a turn!’

‘I’m sorry, Lil, I didn’t mean to.’ His quiet tones still retained the sing-song lilt of the small Welsh village he’d left so many years ago. ‘How did it go, then? Come and sit down and tell me.’

She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron and sitting in the wooden rocker opposite him. ‘They were surprised to say the least.’

‘Did they kick up?’

‘No. Not really.’

Albert Davies looked at her and for the hundredth time wondered how he had ever managed to pluck up the courage to ask her to marry him. She was an attractive woman and a kind one, too. He’d experienced many instances of her thoughtfulness and generosity. Not that she’d had much to give in the way of material things. It was the little things that had touched him. The mugs of homemade soup she’d brought him when he’d been ill; the kettle holders and oven mitts that Emily or Phoebe-Ann had made that suddenly ‘appeared’ in the kitchen. Things like that. And her time and patience given so gladly and without thought of payment. She’d brought a warmth to his home and a brightness into a life that had been increasingly lonely. She, too, had confessed to loneliness, despite the fact that she was always surrounded by people. There were times when she felt a great emptiness in her life, she’d told him. That was something he understood only too well.

‘And did you decide about the . . . arrangements?’

‘Yes. We’ll come and live here, if that’s still all right?’

‘Didn’t I say it would be, Lil?’ It was so long since he’d had any kind of family life that he welcomed it, although there had been moments when he’d wondered if he’d regret it. He’d been so used to solitude, so used to his own routine. Would a family of five with their bickering and laughter and noise annoy him? He’d pushed the doubts to the back of his mind. They were good, hardworking lads were Jack and Jimmy; no falling in blind drunk on pay day or any other day; no gambling or hanging around with loose women. She’d done well. It wasn’t easy to bring up lads without a man behind you and the two girls were well turned out and seemed pleasant enough. He noticed a shadow cross her face. ‘What’s wrong?’

Lily sighed then shrugged. ‘It’s Phoebe-Ann. She’s decided to live in with the Mercers. They always wanted her to – wanted both of them to live in – but they never would agree to. Until now.’

‘Rather than come and live here?’ He felt a little hurt but then shrugged it off. He’d prepared himself for this kind of rejection. He’d have been even more disturbed had either Jack or Jimmy refused.

‘I’m sorry. She can be very stubborn at times. You know the performance I had to get her to go back there at all. She got used to the money and the companionship in munitions and was hellbent on going to work at Bibby’s or Tate’s until I put my foot down. They’d both promised Mr Mercer that when the war was over they’d go back.’

‘And a promise is a promise,’ he added.

‘Aye, it is. Emily thinks her “living in” might be for the best.’

‘She’s got a lot of common sense has Emily.’

Lily smiled as she rose. ‘She takes after me. Down to earth and practical. Phoebe-Ann takes after her dad.’ She hadn’t meant to bring the conversation around to Joe. ‘You don’t mind me talking about Joe, do you?’

‘No. You were married to him. That’s a fact. No getting away from it. No use getting jealous either.’

She crossed to his side and laid a hand on his arm. ‘You’re a good, kind man Albert Davies and I’m lucky to have you.’

‘Get away with you, Lil! It’s me who’s the lucky one. Now, before you start tearing around the kitchen like a dervish, there’s something else we should discuss.’

‘What?’

‘Work. I don’t want you to go on going out to work. It’s not necessary any more.’

‘But I’ve always worked. Ever since I was a girl.’

‘I know and I think it’s time you stopped. You’ll have enough to do here. No more half killing yourself to help get the
Aquitania
or the
Berengaria
or anything else ready for sea again. From now on you’ll be getting me, Jack and Jimmy ready for work and that’s enough.’ He didn’t say that she was getting too old for such work. He did have some tact and sensitivity. He was also a proud man in his own way. If she continued to work it would reflect badly on him. It would be viewed as his inability to provide for her.

She directed a smile brimfull of gratitude at him. ‘It will be a joy to be able to do everything properly. Time to enjoy preparing meals, baking,’ she laughed. ‘Even to do my own washing in my own wash-house, instead of having to take it down to the public wash-house. Does that sound strange to you?’